Lost Battle
by mcabby80
Summary: Beowulf!Thommy because let's face it: Slean is basically Jimmy in Viking clothes ...


"What would your mother say if she caught you... like _that_?"

The mockery of Thomgar's words hangs in the air, dangerous as a newly-sharpened sword, and Slean sucks in a noisy breath of air. His fingers close around one of Thomgar's nastily scarred wrists in an almost brutal grip.

"Don't ever mention her again _in here,_ or..."

"Or what,Slean?"

Thomgar lifts his free hand and casually rubs across Slean's sweat-covered chest, enjoying the contrast of smooth skin and hard muscles under his fingertips. "...or you're going to _kill_ me?" The corners of Thomgar's lips twitch a little around his grin, revealing just the briefest moment of uncertainty.

Slean stills his hips then, and glares back at him, his steel-blue eyes pinning the dark-haired man to the shabby mattress beneath him. "I bloody well might," he snarls before he bends down and presses his mouth, hard and unforgiving, against Thomgar's.

If it was somebody else, someone that _didn't matter_ , Thomgar would push him harshly off his body and out of his bed; but it's _Slean_ above him, gorgeous and hot-blooded, with an insatiable desire, and so he just lets those hungry lips claim his again, moans openly into Slean's eager mouth before he hears himself lie, "You wish you owned me, but you do not!"

Slean stiffens for a beat, throws Thomgar a purposeful look of undisguised disapproval before he lowers his head and bites down, right at the sensitive pulse point of Thomgar's neck. It leaves the skin red and bruised, a silent punishment that makes Thomgar shudder with delightand his cock throb impossibly harder between Slean's cheeks.

"I _do_ , though," Slean hisses into the hollow of Thomgar's neck, still not moving a bloody muscle below his waist. A little annoyed, Thomgar grabs Slean's naked backside with firm hands and, with an impatient roll of his hips, urges the other man to get on with it. Slean's tight little arse clenches against Thomgar's fingers as he gives a sharp thrust upward, followed by a long animalistic groan vibrating through the bedroom. When Thomgar finally rolls them over, Slean breaks; he always does when Thomgar begins to _take_ him, his facade of a mighty, unyielding warrior dissolving with the fervent movements of Thomgar's body.

 _Not that much of a strong, honourable fighter now_ _,_ Thomgar thinks, half-amused, as he pushes with vigour into the man who has just handed over every last ounce of control on a silver platter. A man that is now squirming and whimpering beneath him like a bloody maiden , eyes closed and delirious, while sucking two of Thomgar's fingers into the slickness of his mouth. _Greedy_ , like he just can't get enough of Thomgar; as if Slean's body isn't already over-full of him.

When Slean finishes with wrecked breath and a grunted "Yes, do it...god, _do it,_ " it's all Thomgar needs to be pushed over the edge himself. Then, for some fleeting, precious moments only, they lie together, their breaths hitting each other's faces, and Thomgar finds himself carressing Slean's face. Brushes his fingers, lightly, over the close-cropped hair on the sides of Slean's head before letting himself get carried away and whispering, "My beautiful warrior."

Slean stares at the ceiling, a miniscule smile tugging at the edges of his mouth but in a heartbeat it's gone, replaced by a blank expression. In a perfect world, Thomgar is sure, they could have been something splendid, _profound_ even, but as it is he pushes himself up and swiftly rolls to the side before Sleanhas got the slightest chance to quirk one perfectly shaped pink lip and tell Thomgar to _get off him._

There are no words of affection cooed into his ear and he's stopped waiting for idle kisses or lingering touches months ago. Thomgar knows _this_ is the most he's ever going to get out of it- a few hours of intense lust; sometimes the whole night, if he's lucky. Because Slean, a coward when it comes to matters of the heart, fights off the tiniest fragments of tenderness behind his shield of indifference and, distantly, Thomgar thinks he should be thankful for it. Whatever it is between them was doomed to failure from the day they first laid eyes on each other in the village. The moment Thomgar caught sight of Slean's overconfident, magnetic smile, he was fully cognizant of the danger for his heart. Still, all doubts were swept aside like leaves in an autumn gale when young, passionate Slean came to see him later, in the deep of the night.

But soon they will come to a natural end. Under the encouragement of his mother, Slean will marry a decent woman to raise a family with, and while his mother will be perfectly happy, Slean himself will _not_. It's something they have both always been aware of yet declined to mention.

And so Thomgar wills his heart to be still when, in the wee hours, Slean hovers close above his face for a few seconds, convinced that Thomgar is still in a deep sleep. Pretends that the sudden firm kiss pressed down onto his temple is nothing but a meaningless gesture, soleley born out of guilt, and not what his heart's longing for so desperately. Every time he holds his breath, struggling hard not to pull Slean back into bed and tell him to stay.

Forever.

No, he's not that pathetic, and so he saves himself the heartache for later, when the bed will be void of Slean's warmth and Thomgar's pillow-muffled sobs will go unheard ...


End file.
